


Darling, He Loves You

by lovelyrhink (crimsonwinter)



Category: Rhett & Link, Rhett and Link
Genre: Canon Compliant, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Love Letter to Link Neal, M/M, Mutual Pining, Second-Person POV, Yearning, college rhink, rhink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:27:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22365625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonwinter/pseuds/lovelyrhink
Summary: Link. I speak his love for you. This is your love letter.
Relationships: Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal
Comments: 24
Kudos: 67





	Darling, He Loves You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Charles Lincoln Neal III](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Charles+Lincoln+Neal+III).



> Lots of love to my beta [@cerealbaths](http://cerealbaths.tumblr.com)!! ❤︎

Darling, didn’t you know? He’s always been in love with you. 

You know him, that man. That tall, bearded man. You’ve known him since you were small, and you’ve grown together into big bodies. Side-by-side, your bones stretched you into tall men but your hearts stayed youthful. Hearts of children: funny and foolish. You’re in your forties now, but you don’t know any better than you did at ten, or sixteen, or twenty. 

The story of your love song, repeated in rhythms. Got yourselves in trouble, colored mythical beasts, and he’s loved you ever since. 

Charlie, his love has strengthened, as you have, into something fearless. He’s told you that he’d die for you, but did you hear it? 

You’ve lived life at his side, but you haven’t seen you as I have. I am the wind, the cloud’s silver edge, the electric pull between your hips and his. I’ve seen you sleeping, walking, laughing. In the moments you were dreaming, I was there, in the moonglow. When you were sad, and he was there, I was there, too, in the warm palm of his hand on your back. 

At ten years old, he watched you sleep, and I stayed up with him. Curled upon yourself on the floor of the den, your sleeping bag crinkled your cheek and he saw it, traced the faint lines with his eyes. He was sleepy, but felt sworn to stay up, just a little longer, to watch over you. I whispered to him that you’d both be safe in sleep, but all he heard was wind. He is your protector, a brother born of different earth, brought to you to love forever. He faded into sleep and soon joined you on the floor, but come morning, you woke first, and watched him instead. 

Eons of love, you and him, and I see all. My powers will reveal to you how he’s fallen for you. Love between boys, the passions of men. 

Link. I speak his love for you. This is your love letter.

* * *

Rhett joins you in the hallway. Students part as hoards of beetles scatter from lizards. Your love frightens them, too intense for those who don’t yet know themselves. Existence is messy at this age, somewhere between ninth and tenth grade, roped into patterns and schedules designed for you. There’s freedom in him. He walks you to class, eats lunch with you every day. Sometimes, you sit at neighboring desks in the same classroom, and he passes you notes.

The insecurities of others worry you not as you smile at his words. Can you help your blushing cheeks, smitten for his handwriting? You scribble jokes that make little sense and pass it back.

You’ve gotten in trouble this way. _Anything you’d like to share with the class?_ your teacher asks, and I remember. He looks at you, and you want to fight for him. You’d argue that friendship is more important than neutrons, greater than the atoms that make the matter of your paper notes. You say nothing, shake your head. Your friend shrugs, and when lecture continues, he gives you a shy smile. You like him so much, and he feels the same.

“Where do you want to go today?” he asks. 

The planes of your space with him feature the hallway, the courtyard, the lockers. The school is yours because he is yours, and you are fearless as he leans, arm above his head. He’s not invisible, and neither are you, but you can’t hear the thoughts of the girls your age. To your knowledge, Rhett likes the girls, but the girls like you more. In truth, they like you better when you’re not with him. Today, they walk by and think you’re handsome. They see Rhett leaning, and for a moment, they think he could be your boyfriend, but they squash the thought. Beetles.

“Woods,” you answer. The day has made you stuffy and you need forest air. You dump your textbooks, and he shuts your locker for you. 

He walks you through the school and into the sun, harmless. What you don’t know is that he wants to touch your waist. Wants to walk you with his hand guiding, possessing you. Rhett can see the girls looking, their eyes sharp and unforgiving. He feels jealous though you walk beside him, like they’ll take you from him with their hatred. 

Rhett watches you mount your bicycle, resisting the urge to touch your lower back. He pats your shoulder instead, then takes his own from the rack. Neither helmets, nor sunscreen. Old sneakers. He follows behind as you ride far from campus, toward the woods. He kicks to ride beside you, tension melting like hot asphalt in Southern sun. 

There’s forgiveness in the woods, protection from sharp eyes, but he still doesn’t touch you like he wants. Parks his bike and lets you lead through the trees. He’ll follow you anywhere.

* * *

The first time he feels true fear, your mother is nearby. Family event, church thing. That sweet teen-age of pranks and drivin’ fast, you and Rhett feel romantic and adventurous together. Rhett sneaks you a little bit of wine, much better than the strawberry you crafted together. You sip out of a dark glass and the drab gathering goes fuzzy in vignette. 

Boyish laughter, huskily whispering judgements about your mother’s friends. Rhett sips his wine with his eyes on your face, your cheeks stained pink with blush. Movements of the guests sweep your jokes under their shuffling feet and the night ticks on as you press closer on the couch. You’re sitting with one knee up, and when you lean into your best friend’s whisper, your knees touch. 

He says something funny-unfunny and you giggle. The hand not holding your wine absentmindedly falls to his knee, and for once, he doesn’t flinch. You forget the South, but the guests don’t, and you rescind the touch as someone’s uncle comes stumbling up to you. 

Rhett moves his legs quickly and the space goes cold between you. Ice shrieks through your veins before the uncle speaks.

The man’s bulbous nose is red with liquor and the crease in his brow is unfriendly. He spits, “Y’all’re _those_ boys, ain’t you?” gestures his whiskey in your direction. “And you’s- you’s Sue’s kid. You oughta be _ashamed._ ” Waves his hand at the couch like he can push you farther apart. “Show some respect.”

Trapped, you say nothing. Rhett’s jaw clenches and he straightens up, tension pulling his shoulders taut. You wait out the interaction, hoping the man will leave, but he doesn’t. He drinks. 

Whiskey-wet lips, he snarls, “Know anything ‘bout sanctity, do ya? Wipe that color out your face.” 

You flush a deeper red and recoil under his gaze. Can’t stand being looked at one second longer, so you flee the scene. Rhett follows, which doesn’t help your cause. 

The angry man sloshes his drink as Rhett leaves, calling you both a slur I dare not repeat. You never forget the word. 

Pushing through the crowd, you seek the night like open air can loosen the constriction of your throat. Absconding to the front of the house, your friend joins you in the dark and shuts the door behind him. Skin afire with hurt, you breathe three trembling breaths and take the last of your wine in one mouthful. The alcohol settles warm in your belly, but it’s not enough. You’re shaken. 

Rhett stands beside you, says nothing as he drinks in camaraderie. Caught between hoping your mother will appear and coddle you and knowing for certain she won’t, you bow your head. Neither boy speaks as the party’s humble-bumble bleeds into the quiet of night. A cool breeze nips at the back of your neck. It’s me, giving you a kiss. 

In this moment, Rhett wants to comfort you, and him, with the same words. I watch from the wheat fields beyond the veranda as he battles with himself, wanting so badly to touch you, yet fearing for his life - and yours - if he does. Rhett wants to write you poetry off the cuff of his smart mouth, tell you that he loves you so fiercely that he’d go back and punch the man to defend you. Both of you know that’s unrealistic. You don’t weep because if you did, it’d mean too much. It’d confirm what the man assumes, that you’re tender-hearted, weak-willed. The wrong kind of boy.

You don’t know what Rhett wants to say, but I can hear his ache. I whip the golden wheat and read his thoughts. If he could, your love would tell you this:

_Link,_ he’d say. _We ain't_ _doin' nothin' wrong. We don’t shame God because we love each other. We don’t disrespect our parents for liking each other like we do. You know that I’m with you, no matter what, and there’s no fear that will take me from you. I am afraid, but not of that man. I'm afraid that this will refrain you from touching me. I want you to touch me. Want you to touch me without fear because I want to touch you, too. I’d take you in my arms right now, squeeze the hurt from your lungs. The Earth could swallow us whole, but I’d hold you tight._

There are words he wants to say to you, but he lets you live. He allows the silent night to calm you, rather than his hands, but if he was bolder, he’d spin you a dream. He’d wax poetic:

_We can get out of here, Link. I’ll take you away in my truck, drive us to the East coast and beyond. We’ll escape, elope to Europe: Barcelona, maybe Paris. We’d have money to spend on Parisian hotels, and I’d find you the silkiest sheets, sleep with you in them. We’ll eat treats and get fat, and if we wanted a pretty girl in our bed with us, we’d have her. We’ll fall in love._

He’s beside you, wanting you, dreaming a dream he can’t give you. He sighs, and you let one tear slip, but just one. When you rear your head up, your rage has simmered into discomfort, unwilling acceptance. You wipe your cheek and Rhett sees it. He comes a little closer, but not close enough. He looks to the people in the house, keeps his space as he speaks. 

“Y’alright?” he asks, but it’s a placeholder. He knows you’re not because he’s not. He fears that he won’t ever be able to hug you, that even in the safety of your bedroom, the neighborhood bluebirds have cameras in their eyes. Rhett puts his hands on the wood, and I dance the breeze over his knuckles.

“I’m fine,” you lie. 

“That guy doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Rhett focuses on the pinpricks of light from other people’s porches because looking at you will break him. “He’s got it all wrong. It’s not like that with us.” 

The pit of your belly goes heavy, bitter stone. His words should comfort you, but they don’t, because the man _didn’t_ have it wrong, not to you. You hurt tenfold because somewhere deep, beyond the rivers of fear, you think _maybe it is like that with us._ There’s fear because there’s truth, and if Rhett thinks the man misguided, then maybe you are, too. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Rhett says, “his words can’t hurt us,” but they do. They do.

* * *

Sweetheart, he proves his love to you when college comes. You take girls to prom but pose for photos with each other, and when it’s time to graduate, you spring for film school. Rhett wants to follow you there, to create alongside you, but his father forbids him. He’s heartbroken that there’s somewhere he can’t follow, but you love him too much to leave him, so you follow him instead. Changing your plans is a small token for keeping him, and if you could, you’d sell your soul to a witch to have him in your life forever. Seems you just might’ve. 

Together, you head off for engineering school. You shack up in the same dorm because even a door’s width apart is too far to go. With college comes a certain privacy, a safer space with more forgiving people. College allows for mistakes and risks you might not’ve taken, and more moments with Rhett to be silly and selfish and hungry for him. Rhett bleaches his hair and yours and you start a band; your sound is bad, but you play anyway. People like you, visit your room and take photos posed on your couch for your collage, and it feels good.

Music is louder and bodies are smellier, but washing the trash cans is a slight price to pay to live with Rhett. To have Rhett, all to yourself, in this new space. 

You spend more time shirtless than you did back home, parading your lean muscles for Rhett’s greedy eyes. You grow your hair out, wear puka shells, drink hard liquor. You and Rhett get girlfriends, and you date yours through the phone, whispering sweet nothings in your upper bunk. You don’t know that Rhett fumes jealous in the bunk below. 

When Rhett has girls over, your heart pangs with a jealous-envy mix, not wanting her to take Rhett from you but wanting to be her, too. Rhett wishes you could be her. 

College brings you closer. Having other roommates privy to your dynamic reveals to you a softness, a fondness you restrained in Buies Creek. Here, you have lazy afternoons with him and an active nightlife. You can touch his waist in the dark, in photos, and he can hug you like he feared he couldn’t. There’s few moments without him, and your fond heart grows fonder.

There’s one night, midway through your four years, when you push your luck. You’ve spent the years hopping from one temporary home to another, Rhett at your hip, and me, in your luggage. Now, you’re not yet twenty-one but your space is bigger, more adult. Your roommate Gregg convinces you to host parties at yours, but the best shindigs are always elsewhere. 

At this one, Rhett is tipsy and handsy. It’s someone’s house, a big place, with girls in bright colors, shoulders bare, and boys in basketball shorts. You like to look at both, and so does he. He stays close to you, possessive, growling under his breath when girls who ain’t yours try to flirt with you. He lets his hand trail down your back when you lead the way, and you’re not sure, but you think he presses his hips to your rump when you take your turn at beer pong. You’re not the best at it, but Rhett doesn’t mind. He grips your hips with bold fingers, and the touch lingers.

When you leave him in search of the restroom, he chases you. When your other friend tugs you ‘cross the house to try a hit of something green, your boy-love comes, too. You consume substances ’til you feel unlike yourself, then more like yourself, and back again. You’re slipping between sensations and I’m watching you as the smoke, as the light. 

By midnight, Rhett’s all over you, and it’s got you warmer than the liquor. He’s had just enough to make him greedy, pulling at your waist and resting his head on yours, wrapping his arms ‘round you and shooting knives with his eyes at anyone who scowls. He’s so big and clumsy that it makes you want him in ways you can’t have. You want to throw him down and sit on him, take him, want to push and shove him ’til he snaps and does it for you, want to make his lips part in a pleasured ‘O’. 

You’re spinning out; you need water, so you drink two tall glasses, one after another. When you head to the restroom again, this time, Rhett hooks his finger in the belt loop at your tailbone, and his puppyish pawing makes you bold. He’s giggling at himself for teasing you, but once shadowed by the hallway, you snap. 

With your strength, you pin your tall friend to the hallway wall, shoving into his space. You put your hands under his shirt and dig your fingers into his bare, bony hips. I’m watching from the dance floor through someone else’s eyes as you press yourself upon him and get your mouth on his neck. Gnawing a sloppy kiss-bite into the tender skin, you breathe hot on his ear, rubbing yourself on his thigh. 

“Stop teasin’ me,” you grunt, and he whimpers. He’s so in lust with you here he can’t stand it, and he grabs your waist, keeping you on him.

He looks at you, and you’re not sure what you see in his dark eyes. His lips are parted and ready for the kiss, but the sharp edge of guilt’s blade reminds him you’re taken, as is he. It twists his guts so he turns his face; you go for the mouth but kiss his cheek. 

His big hands squeeze you, pushing and pulling at the same time, and he shoves you off. It’s the last thing he wants to do, and the last words he wants to say. “I can’t.” 

You’re stupid. Is he saying he can’t stop teasin’ you, or…? Rhett blinks at you, and the edges of his mouth are hard. 

Oh. 

His heart is pounding, wants nothing more than to pull you back on him and tongue your mouth, but you’ve pushed it, and you’ve broken the almost. Hurt, you release his hips, but I’ll tell you that he feels the imprints of your fingernails, lasting, for years afterwards.

You can’t look at him as you head for the restroom. He catches your wrist, eyes closed, and whispers into shadows, “I want you.” 

“Okay,” you answer, and open the door.

You remember this moment, I know you do, but you’ve replayed it so many times over that you’ve misremembered it as a dream. Sugar, I can tell you with certainty it was no dream. You leave Rhett there, and he waits, wanting you with his whole body, before disappearing back into the crowd. You never speak of this almost-kiss, but he thinks of it often, too.

* * *

After college, you start lives with the women you love.

You take a blonde and Rhett takes a brunette, and the four of you grow out of adolescence together. Now, you and Rhett are men, with women you’re serious about and jobs that pay the bills. Right after college, you and he propose to your women. You have charming weddings; you’re one of his best men, and he’s one of yours. In another life, perhaps you might’ve stood at the same altar, but you try not to think about it. How can you, when she is so lovely? 

He’s found his second best friend in his wife, and Love, it’s okay that you’re envious. The first few years of marriage are hard for you, as much as you love your woman, and Rhett’s happiness causes you to ache, deep beneath those same rivers of fear. You fight that fear with love, love and love and love again, and it strengthens the both of you: you and her. 

Marriage brings a rocky start that strengthens into companionship. Finally, you’re sure that you want to love, that you want to chase an ending. Imperfect, playful games no longer, your marriage is less touch-and-go than the chemistry you have with Rhett, but he’s still there, loving you. He’s your man, and as it’s always been with you two, your lives begin to parallel. You settle in North Carolina and stay close to each other, and when your women start wanting babies, you and him consider fatherhood together. 

Within a few years, you’ve grown from cocky college boys into soon-to-be fathers. It’s terrifying, and thrilling, and wonderful. When your women get pregnant, you celebrate together with tear-filled eyes, overwhelmed with happiness. _How can it be?_ you ask him. _How has this come to us?_

Rhett answers without delicacy, and it makes you laugh. You know how it works, of course, and you want this life with her, but you’re fearful, unsure that you’ll do it right. What does it mean to be a husband, a father? She’s just as clueless as you, and when you first learn that she’s pregnant, together, you take a nap.

While your wives’ bellies swell with babies soon to come, you and Rhett find familiarity in each other. He is no longer the scrappy boy on the bike, no. He blossoms into something spectacular, shining so brightly you almost can’t stand it. You trust him with every ounce of your shaken soul, and he puts you back together when you’re afraid. 

Sometime in your mid-twenties, just before you become a father, your wife recommends you take a night out. _You need him,_ she says, and you love her so much for knowing you, knowing him.

He picks you up in his new car, a family-sized thing, and takes you out to the county fair.

You take the night alone with him because she’s right, you need him. It feels good to hang out like this. You’ve been so caught up in the newness of everything that you neglect to have time alone with him. He parks in the dirt lot just outside the gates and reminds you to bring a jacket because he loves you, and you feel the warmth already. Stepping out of the car, you shrug your hoodie on to block the Autumn chill and he slaps your shoulder, tells you it’ll be a fun night. You smile, believing him.

Rhett walks ahead and pays for both tickets. He gestures you to come closer as people fill in behind you. Passing through a chain link gate, you enter the fray: energy. It’s a whirlwind of color, movement, and dust. Young kids chase each other, cotton candy in hand. Your heart twangs, and Rhett’s right there with you, seeing the same sights, feeling the same soon-to-be’s. There are couples walking slowly, kissing under the colored lights, and teenagers in packs hauling oversized prizes.

This county fair represents Fuquay-Varina county’s finest in the form of prized livestock and crops, carnival rides the likes of the ferris wheel, tilt-a-whirl, and whatever that thing with the kiddy train is. There’s basketball hoops with oval rings, water-gun shooters, and bottle tosses. The string lights overhead glow in orange-gold bulbs, and as Rhett walks, the lighting catches the handsomeness in his face. You look at him, as if seeing him for the first time in years, surprised that he looks so much like a man. His face is different with some hair on his chin, and his black leather jacket complements his angles. If he looks older, then you must as well.

Giggling, you catch yourself thinking something funny, smiling into the feeling of looking at him.

“What?” 

“You fit right in here, Mr. Freakishly-Tall.” 

He nudges you. “Then maybe I’ll go off with the carnies. That what you want?”

You grip his arm, “No!” and hold him for a moment too long. You rescind your hand, bashful, but Rhett doesn’t mind walking closer to you, brushing against you with every step. 

Making your way through the scene, you admire the carnivalesque happenings. Assembled on a large fairground, the fair’s dirt roads wind between rides and games aplenty. You’re determined to eat some true-to-form fair food and see the animals, but tell Rhett that you’ll skip anything spinny tonight. He agrees to take it easy, but doesn’t promise he won’t waste money on games.

Your favorite part of county fairs are the animals, and Rhett walks you down the main strip toward the barns. Sellers show off their overpriced, air-brushed garments, the scent of fried food drifts in the wind, and when you smell funnel cake, your palette wets. There’s a lawn to the left where kids chase bubbles and do cartwheels, and if you look closer, you can see the pack of teenagers disappear under the bleachers. You spot some animals parading, like the piglet races, and you let your eyes admire the families gathered ‘round, admiring the oinklets. 

It’s not quite dusk, so the sun shines, but there’s a chill that grows denser as the sun nears the horizon. Rhett lets you linger at booths selling jewelry and you find something blue you think your wife might like, while Rhett chooses amber for his. You chat with your friend about work but not as cheerfully as you would if you worked somewhere else. You tell Rhett that you’re still thinking about filmmaking, spouting off all these wild ideas for shorts as he listens, smiling that soft, shy smile he reserves when he’s especially fond of you. He stops you mid-sentence to point something out to you, and when you look, you squeal. I’ll tell you that Rhett thinks this is very cute of you. 

“Mini horses!” Rushing over to see them, you feel eighteen again, when you and Rhett were part of your own teenage-gang, breaking off together so you could admire the little ponies. 

Rhett comes up beside you, and this time, doesn’t restrain himself from touching your back. He touches you ‘tween your shoulders then loops his arm on you, pulling you in for a side hug that makes you both fizzle with hidden attraction. A few pony-lookers think you make a cute couple, and when a young girl admires Rhett’s handsome tallness, I am her fluttering heartbeat. 

You ask the boy at the booth what their names are, the three ponies trotting in a circle, small children sat atop them. He tells you: Cinnamon, Lemon, and Beauty. You watch them trot for longer than any other grown man would, but your friend doesn’t mind. He takes the time to look at your face, falling harder for you the wider your smile stretches.

When you finally near the far end of the fair, Rhett teases you about the reptile house, says that you could wear a snake, and you bristle. Instead, he takes you to the poultry barn, and you spend the next ten minutes wiggling your fingers at fluffy chickens, ducks, and roosters. Next door, you find a small petting zoo, and Rhett gives you coins for the pellet machine. You don’t mind a bit that he’s taking care of you, paying for you, because he knows you’ve been hurting more than you let on. Again, he watches in fondness as you lean over the gate, hand outstretched to a soft nuzzling muzzle, offering up the grain pellets in your open palm. Once you and Rhett have pet everything cute and fuzzy, kids and lambs, you rinse your hands and continue on. 

Now, it nears sunset, and the sky has gone pink-orange with lavender clouds. You zip your thick hoodie and Rhett rubs warmth into your back with his big hand. He imagines himself doing the same in another universe, but in that life, he drops his hand to thread through your fingers, and you make your way to the barns, hand-in-hand. 

Finally, the smell of dust and wet grass gives way to hay and manure. The little ones are tuckered out by now, and you smile at the babies dozing on their fathers’ shoulders as they pass, giving a few moments more to admire their handsome dads. Those who tour the barns are patient with the animals and don’t mind the smell. Girls and boys from the 4-H club show off their ribbon-winning pigs, and when allowed, you feed the hungry snouts with hay. 

Rhett falls eerily silent as you walk, and if he was more like you, he’d tell you that he’s feeling fearful of the future. He’d tell you that he wants to bring his kids and yours here, together, but he worries that they won’t get along. He doesn’t want to force the friendships, but he can’t imagine your kids not liking each other. He’d confess that he doesn’t know how he’ll handle more than one baby, but he wants a big family, then remedies his own fears by reminding himself that you’ll be there.

You’ll be there, as will he, and you’ll figure it out together, even if it means taking turns caring for babies not born of the woman you married. It’ll be a family, Rhett thinks, and he wants to tell you. 

Moving on from the pigs and goats, you end the stretch with the bovine barn, walking quickly through the moo’s to avoid the lasting smell. The black cows are your favorite, and you look in awe at how big they are. You’re used to seeing cows, of course, as you and Rhett would commit mischief in their fields. These creatures are big and gentle - you’ve always liked that coupling. 

The sky is a dusky purple when you and him exit the barns. You look towards the rodeo sunken into the lower fairground, cowgirls with their fringe riding chestnut-colored horses of regular size, but you’re getting hungry, and you want Rhett to have his time with the games. On the way back towards the game arena, you stop for curly fries and demand to pay for it yourself, sharing the basket with your buddy. You bypass the hypnotist who’s been doing the same show for thirty years and take a seat on a bench near the gem show. Your eyes follow the colorful lines of minerals and gem clusters in cracked geodes, munching potato curls as the light catches crystal trinkets. 

Rhett checks his cellphone and sends his wife an update that he’s having a good time, and he means it. He’s been quiet, but it’s not for lack of enjoyment. He’s feeling wistful, truth be told, as if he’s yearning for you, despite you sitting there with him, ketchup on your fingers. 

The basket of fries is too huge for you, but not for Rhett, and he finishes it easily. He buys you a vanilla milkshake and himself strawberry to top it off, then heads back towards the entrance, where the money-sucking games lay waiting for him. He’s spent enough money tonight, you tell him, but he only shrugs, handing over a twenty in return for a few strips of tickets. Night has fallen now, and Rhett looks even more handsome against the dark sky. Under the lights, you admire him again, sighing into your own yearning. 

Rhett begins with the ring toss and wins a small teddy bear, which he pockets for his lady love. You watch him play, leaning on the counter as you tease him with distracting words, timed just so that you don’t actually disrupt his chances. Young twenty-something girls walk by and admire Rhett - his tallness, his broad shoulders, his backside - and you feel a rising heat. You’re possessive of him, of course, but with their sultry looks comes a fantasy of your own. You imagine acting on your possessive instincts, dragging Rhett by the black-leather lapels into his car and smooching him into submission. You think about getting your hands on his body, down his pants, tugging what you feel there as it hardens for you. You’re lost in the thought when the bell rings out, signaling another win. This teddy Rhett gives to you, and you blink up at him as you take it.

“For the baby,” he says, and you feel it. Whatever threatened to well inside you at the sight of kids playing rises now, constricting your throat with a surge of emotion. 

“Thanks,” you squeak, and Rhett smiles. He looks at you looking at the bear, notes the tears in your eyes, and falls so painfully, deeply in love with you.

You hold the bear close to your heart as Rhett moves onto the ball toss, maintaining a theme in his game choices, and chooses some huge unicorn thing when he wins because by George, he always wins. He ends his rounds with the clown-face water-gun shooter and chooses a dashboard trinket instead. He senses your need to return home and begins walking towards the exit.

Watching him tonight, you wonder if it’s possible to love two people. Chickadee, it is.

You love the blonde at home and the amber-blond here with you, but your heart doesn’t feel torn. It feels like you’re living two lives: one that started long ago as children, and one that picked up in the middle, on the trajectory towards family that both thrills and frightens you, not unlike the shoddy rides at this county fair. 

You smack Rhett’s arm to remind him of your love, and he’s brave enough this time, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you in. He puts his mouth to your forehead and breathes you in, and it alights every nerve that aches for him. 

* * *

You return to your filmmaking roots with Rhett at your side. 

When your wife bears you a girl, and Rhett’s, a boy, you pick up the camcorder. Inspired by their chubby faces and baby giggles, you remember how good it feels to capture the present. Filmmaker once again, you live these blissful years with the chance to have them later, and holding the eyepiece up to your face makes you hungry to create.

Rhett encourages you to brainstorm because he loves you and wants to see you happy. Together, you decide to start filming local commercials, emphasizing your twisted humor and musical talents. It’s like passing notes, but your words come to life, and far-fetched ideas you might’ve dreamt in the church pews materialize into real-life visions. You’re amateurs but it doesn’t stop you, and working on projects with Rhett makes you feel more like yourself. He plays it cool, but he needs this, needs you, more than you think. 

His devotion to you leads you into a new era, one in which you film yourselves talking to each other for the few that want to listen. You’ve always admired Rhett’s big personality, his sharper edges, and your chemistry attracts small audience that feeds off your friendship, encourages you to remain in each other’s lives. You have no plans to leave him, of course, but now, there’s less shame and more joy. You never thought you could have it this way, having time for Rhett every day and your family, too, but it’s only the beginning. 

Rhett’s touchy, jumpy, flipping between wanting your hands and shoving you off, and it hurts, but you keep on. He’s never stopped wanting you, and it confuses him as your lives become entangled in vines: work, love, children, home, filmmaking. There’s a few years of steady creation, and you’re happy as you can be having Rhett beside you. He’s happy, too. 

When one of your viewers suggests you upload a commercial to an internet platform, everything changes. Your success comes fast. More happens in a year than the whole of your life. A whirlwind of creation, and you’re all over the internet, earning money through new means. You quit your day jobs to spread the word of God, but spirituality of a different sort beckons and you and Rhett find yourselves returning to filmmaking without fear. Your wives encourage you to lean into this success, so you do. 

Somewhere along the way, you and him morph from him and you into Rhett and Link. “Rhett and Link” videos get views, views upon views, and it’s success like you’ve never known. You get advertisements, sponsorships that increase production value, and people share your videos because you make them laugh. Inundated in new success, Rhett keeps you grounded. 

This part, you know well. Change comes calling when offered a chance to make a television show. You and Rhett consider the option, which takes you far from home, toward the Western coast. Families willing, you and him move to California, Los Angeles, and I’ll tell you in all my time watching you, this cross-country road trip is my favorite part. 

You and Rhett travel alone together, filming the crossing of each state border. He drives, and you can’t imagine having to do this alone, so you tell him that you’re grateful for his friendship. Grateful seems too weak a word, somehow, but Rhett knows what you mean. He knows your heart better than anyone in your world, because it beats within his chest. 

I come with as you make your way towards the golden state. I move with the clouds, as clouds know no borders, and I feed on the intimacy between you. I watch as you stop in roadside markets, laughing through the exhaustion of travel. I see you dance across state lines, in parks, and parking lots. I’m there when you eat gas station snacks and pee on the side of the road, and when you get back in the car, I’m the breath you heave. I’m your nausea and Rhett’s determination. I feel his love for you when you nod off in the car and he keeps driving, driving you as he always has been, towards what you deserve. Success. 

He does this for you, Link. He does it all for you. 

In Nevada, something happens. He’s filming you for the vlog and he’s falling for you all over again. You’re silly, loopy with the day’s miles, and he’s laughing at you. He thinks you look pretty, so he films you in good light, and you can see him smiling but can’t feel his heartbeat quicken. He flutters when you look at him with that dopey grin, smack him on the arm and grab the thing from his hands, point it back towards him to catch the tail-end of his blush. It’s flirtatious, and giggly, and sweet. You’re playful because it masks how you pine for him, and he doesn’t know. 

He doesn’t know that you feel the same. He’s smitten by you, absolutely, as he pulls into the lot of a motel just outside Reno. The journey is nearing an end, but the end brings a beginning, and it frightens you. Anticipation shivers as he parks for what might be the last overnight you share, and you wait for a moment before getting out. There’s words to be said but you don’t say them, and he grabs his luggage, leaving the camcorder in the backseat. You take yours and follow him into the building: coved by the desert night, a motel that stands lone off the road. 

He checks you in while the receptionist checks you out. She’s not sure if you’re a couple, but when she catches your admiring eyes, she thinks you might be. She gives you a room with an old-fashioned key, and Rhett thanks her in a voice gruff with fatigue. Following him up the stairs, you wonder if this is the last time you’ll ever have him alone, berating yourself for wondering at all.

The room isn’t terrible. This is the first thing Rhett says before dropping his luggage on one bed and immediately using the restroom. You’re left in quiet that’s too quiet, in a room just drab enough to make you confront yourself. The desert is visible if you peek through the heavy curtains, but moving them spirals a musty, dusty scent, so you avoid it. There’s two beds of average size, and you know Rhett will gripe about their size no matter how many motels you’ve seen. You have no desire to turn on the television. You wait for him. 

“Not the worst we’ve seen,” your friend says when he reappears. 

Looking at him, at his tallness and his hair and his beard and his tired eyes and his hands, births a desperate pining, an aching in your sternum, the kind that rears only when it’s dark and quiet. Rhett unzips his jacket, sits on the bed, and starts taking his shoes off. You watch him for another moment ’til he notices and tells you to bathe.

“You should shower,” he says. “You smell like car and slim-jims.” 

Wordlessly, you obey. That mysterious quiet in your overactive brain follows you into the shower, and the hot water rushes loud in your ears. You can’t shake it, this knowing, as if the weeks on the road have made you restless with a feelings you don’t want to admit. Restless with feelings for Rhett. 

You emerge from the restroom wrapped in a white towel low on your hips, catching Rhett’s eyes on your bare chest. His temperature rises and he looks away, resumes watching television as you slip into boxers and a soft t-shirt. His body cries out for you, but you can only feel your own bubbling attraction as you sit on the bed adjacent, rubbing the towel through your wet hair. 

The two of you channel surf the motel T.V. until you’re hungry, but you’re too tired to go out for food so you feast on the last of your snacks. Both of you are eerily silent but calm with it, as if you understand the exhaustion the day has left in you. After apple slices, crackers, and whatever else Rhett can consume, he takes his turn showering, and you feign interest in the classic grayscale movie, missing him. Under the hot water, he’s missing you, too, and I whisper the beauty of his feelings from the rising steam. 

When Rhett returns, he’s already dressed, second-guessing showing himself to you because his chest is red with two kinds of blush. Asks if you’re still hungry while he dries his hair, and the damp curls on his forehead make him look so much younger. _I’m full,_ you answer, but there’s an emptiness yearning for him, deep in your bones. He resumes watching the movie with you, but neither of you are paying attention. 

At bedtime, you brush your teeth first, followed by the tall one, and you turn off the screen. Without background noise, you’re faced with what you want, what could happen without restraint. You’re not a gluttonous man; you can’t be when there’s a magnificent future waiting for you in the neighboring state, but you want Rhett as only his wife gets to have him. Oblivious that he wants you the same way, you wait for him to climb into bed before turning out the light. It’s about ten minutes of restless tossing when Rhett speaks in the dark. 

“Can’t sleep?” 

You can fall asleep in an instant, which makes this restlessness so peculiar. “Tense,” you answer, then add a half-truth, “Worried 'bout tomorrow.” 

Rhett huffs a laugh in the dark, motel clock ticking in the silence between words. “I’d be more concerned if you weren’t. Y’know we’ll be fine, right?” 

“Yeah.” Your throat is dry. “This is crazy, Rhett. I can’t imagine doing this without you. Don’t think I’d even have the chance.” 

He turns over in bed and you can feel his eyes on you, but you’re not strong enough to face him. He wishes you would as he says, “Hey, we did this together. I’m here for you.” 

Twisting your body, you sneak a peek at him in the dark, but only the glint of his eyes shines through. “Thanks, buddy. I’m here for you, too.” You think that’s the end of it when your body screams - it comes out a whisper, “I’m just worked up…” You don’t expect to say it, don’t mean to, so you curl in on yourself and try to fall asleep, hoping Rhett doesn’t hear it. But he does.

Twenty minutes of silence, sleepy-but-not-sleeping, when you hear Rhett rustle. In this moment, his heartbeat quickens. He knows what he wants, what he needs, what you need. It’s too much, wanting you, but never having you, and he can’t keep himself from trying it. Fearless, he slips his hand into his sweats and starts touching himself. 

You hear it. Your body goes red-hot. He’s done this before, in college, when he didn’t think you could hear him, but now, you’re sure he knows you’re still awake. You’re so familiar with the sound but haven’t heard it in years: the soft touch of his hand on his own skin, his quick breaths and restrained whimpers. Your body reacts like he’s playing you, and with a flushed face, heartbeat throbbing between your thighs, you lay back and stare at the ceiling. 

Your fingertips sneak down into your boxers and grab what’s there, tugging in time with Rhett’s breaths. It’s happened before, more than five times, but you were younger then, invincible. That same brave, lusty aura comes over you now, and you close your eyes to better imagine your friend’s touch. His noises pick up like he can hear you, wrist twisting in a move you mimic on yourself. Hissing into the rising heat, you squeak out a moan, and he echoes you.

All the day’s tension, the strain of the road, bleed out into your hand as you tug. The intensity of bunking together as teenagers comes back in full, and you and him begin to dance, raising your voices just enough to send the other spiraling. Rhett’s whimpery breaths harmonize with your grunts and it’s hot, desperately hot, and you want him. He wants you, grits his teeth and wants you harder because it never feels like this, for either of you, and the temptation to break the invisible and do it in the same bed, touching each other, spurs the heat from within. 

You wrist is working fast under the blanket but you don’t look at him. Unaware, he looks at you, and the movement of your shadow makes him cry out. The sound brings you close and you’re tensing, writhing under your hand, and when you think of his face, your body shrieks to finish. Edging yourself to make it last, your muscles tense, and you sob, “Rhett…” when you come.

Rhett finishes with you, squeaking a strained, pained noise. He’s so hot, and he loves you so much, and his body, and yours, is damp with sweat when he removes his hand. You release yourself yet make no moves to clean the evidence. Neither does he.

He turns away, says, “Goodnight, Link,” and you fall asleep. 

* * *

A year ago, you tell your wife you want to sleep with him. 

It’s been a wild three decades, hasn’t it, Blossom? Success has found you thrice over, but you still can’t grasp the idea of yourself on a billboard, or the truth of you and Rhett making over a thousand episodes of a series, or two more series, or writing two books, or touring your music. Years ago, you’d have thought me lying when I say that you’ve been to Australia, and Thailand, and London. When I speak truths that you’ve made tens of millions doing what you love, with the man you love. When I tell you that your three kids are proud of you, and Rhett’s boys are, too.

It’s a new decade. You know what you want, and finally, you can have it. It’s not too late for you.

Your wives understand that it’s possible to love more than one person in more than one way, and they’ve granted the blessing for you and him to be together. You’ve been shy about acting on it, but it can no longer be restrained. I write you this love letter in the moments just before you act on it, reminding you that it’s not a mistake, nor a running joke that you feel must be realized. Nobody can tell you what you feel for him, but if someone could, then I’d probably be the one. 

You’re in love with him.

Honey, he feels the same. He loves you as your friend and your protector, your roommate and your buddy system, your creator and your savior and your soon-to-be lover. Every confused emotion you’ve ever had, he’s felt it, and each time you’ve ached for him, he’s been beside you, aching just the same. He once feared touching you, but no longer. He’s worked through the anger, the hurt he’s caused by shaming himself, and now, he wants to help you. He’ll help you come into yourself with the touch of his hands, the push of his body. If you let him. 

If you let him, he’ll rise like the tides and cover you in seawater. He’ll have you in the same bed, vulnerable yet unafraid to be spooned by you, repeatedly. He’ll let you work your hands all over him, touch everywhere you couldn’t before. He’ll have you kiss his bearded chin and hook your hands under his knees, spreading him open. He’ll beg you to get him slick with your mouth and push inside him, and when he’s done begging, he’ll command you to beg for him. If he wants it, he can have it, because you’ve never denied him anything.

You’ve offered him a lifetime of love and Link, he’s never refused you. He’s felt fearful, but never at the expense of losing you. He’s brave for you, and now you must be brave for him. You stick with what you like, and you’ve been friends for longer than most, so who’s to say you can’t have him now, beyond what friends can give each other? There is time for you to be friends, devoted for eternity, and lovers, dancing an intimate waltz that crescendos more than once in the same night.

You can kiss him for real, you know. On the mouth. Take his face in your hands and give him the smooch - he’ll kiss you back. He’ll press his mouth to your neck and suck the tender skin, giving you what you’ve never had. All the parts of your body that fit together, that I have crafted to fit together, can be joined like you want them. I know that you want his hands on your waist, and you can have them. I know that you want his hot lips on your skin: your thighs, your belly-button and your tailbone, and he’ll give them to you, and wherever else you please. He’ll have you when you relinquish control and go loose with wanting him, and he’ll hold you, fulfilling your every need.

Sure, he’s a big man, but he’s been granted permission to be small for you. He can focus his pleasure keenly, brace on his knees and take it where he truly is small, or he can stretch himself over you and swallow you in his bigness. He’ll have you in the afternoon with the windows open, in your shower with the neighbor watching, and in the blanket of night, when all he can feel is your heat around him. He’s left his heart open for you the whole of your lives together, and anything you ask of him, he’ll give, knowing that you’ll be generous and then some.

Lover, you’ve been blessed by more than your fair share of angels. You have safety and wealth. You have a woman to love, maybe his, if she wants you, and children - five in total - that admire you. Your best friend is your man and your man is your love and your love is endless, timeless, and your youthful heart hasn’t yet stopped beating, so why deny it one moment longer? 

Go to him. Kiss him. Tell him that you’re ready for him. No harm will come to you. I promise. 

I’ve been watching over you, but it’s your love for him and his for you that has made me strong enough to give you this. I give you this as my choir of angels ring out behind me, singing you a love song that’s taken you thirty years to hear. There is no fear where I am, nor should there be for you. He will never hurt you, not ever, because he was born to love you. 

He was born to love you, so when you show him your gratitude through pleasures of the flesh, hold him afterwards. Hold him and tell him you’ve never been afraid, even if you were. 

Darling, he needs to hear it. 


End file.
